Chasing Daylight
by Shtuff
Summary: AU One-shot. The world is over. Tifa's dead, Aerith's dead, and he's stuck in the night desperately chasing after the sun. How did things come to this?


**Disclaimer: **I own nothing except my own ideas. Everything else belongs to Square Enix.

**Well, this is probably the most tragic and depressing thing I have ever written. I should not be cooped up inside for nearly two weeks. Oh, the joys of recovering from surgery. Still, the idea has been stewing in my head for quite some time so perhaps that isn't a good excuse. I just finally managed to work up the motivation get this all written down. **

**This is a bit different from my normal writing style and I hope it's not too confusing. I was experimenting with some different things so I'm a little nervous. Hopefully everything is clear and understandable. **

**Well, enjoy the Cloud-angst. XD And please review if you feel inclined, I'd really love to hear your thoughts on this.**

* * *

It didn't end the way he always thought it would. He was practical and hardly believed in fairytales, but even _he _was hoping for a happy ending. They would defeat Sephiroth, vanquish evil, and save the world. He never thought about life beyond that point, or how he was going to go about living it, but saving the world was a big enough task and a lot to think about so he didn't really care. Everything was going to be all right. _They _were going to be all right. He believed this with every beat of his broken heart.

It didn't end the way he thought it would. They _did _save the world, but not before it fell apart and salvation came with a price so hefty he'd hadn't been able to imagine it—the death of the only two people in the whole wide world that he loved

First, he lost Aerith in a glorious act of self-sacrifice. Years later, those final moments still haunt his darkest dreams. The alter, the angel, the weight of the sword in his hands, the frantic beat of his heart, Sephiroth descending like a mighty god from above, Masamune sliding through her skin like it was nothing more than butter, or paper. And finally, there's the blood—so red—and it's _everywhere, _painting his skin all the way down to his soul. And her _eyes_, the way they flared with pain, then peace, then turned empty as glass as the life ran out of her in a torrent of crimson. Her body looked like a broken doll, held up by that wicked blade, and the sad smile on her lips cut him deeper than even Jenova could. Her lifeless body in his arms was heavier than anything he'd ever lifted and as he lowered her into the tranquil water, forcing himself to let go, he felt as though someone had reached in and smashed his heart into a thousand pieces.

She was far too innocent to die, yet somehow she still did (_for him) _and all he (_the_ _hero) _did was stand there and watch. The guilt would eat away him like a poison and to this day he wishes that he had been just a little faster, just a little _stronger _because maybe then she would still be here, still be smiling, and this aching emptiness in his heart wouldn't be quite as vast.

Looking back, he still doesn't know what she was to him. He had loved her—he still did—but it was a part of him he didn't understand, a part that wasn't fully _him. _In the end, he realized it was nothing more than leftover love from a friend who had meant the world to him, but whose face was nothing more than a blurry shadow in his mind. And while she had always understood him better than anyone, even himself, he always suspected that she saw the shadow of someone else when she looked at him.

But in the end, none of that mattered. It all boiled down to one simple truth: he'd loved her and she was _gone … _because of _him. _Her death hurt so badly he had to consciously tell himself to keep on breathing, keep on going, or he would have fallen where he stood and it would have all been for nothing. Somehow, he managed to pull himself together long enough to fight one last battle and save the world, though he didn't do it _for _the world, just for her, so her death wouldn't be in vain.

Then came the end of the world. It was fire and destruction and agony and it swept _her _away in its vicious storm. Aerith's death shattered him, but Tifa's death _killed _him. A hurricane of pain reached into his bloodstained, tattered soul and tore it to shreds. He couldn't think, couldn't feel, and inside of him there was nothing but an emptiness so vast it swallowed him whole.

He embraced the fog—wrapped it around him like a protective blanket against the outside world. Within its numb hold he couldn't feel, couldn't _hurt, _and the searing pain that threatened to burn him alive withered away to harmless ashes.

There were no more battles to fight—nothing left but rubble and ashes and ruined, broken lives—and without a purpose he drifted away from his friends, watching the world go by with empty eyes, breathing still but so dead inside he might as well have been a phantom.

Memories of those days are hazy. He can't remember her funeral—_thankfully—_and everything is just a blur of cold wind, hot liquor, wide-open roads, and empty hotel rooms until a furious Barrett found him, hauled him back to Edge, and shoved him under an ice cold shower. Those moments dragged him out of the fog into painful clarity. He can remember vividly how achingly bright the world suddenly seemed, how loud Barrett's gruff voice was, and most of all how sad Marlene's eyes were as they watched from the half-open door.

With the clarity came the _pain_—flaying him until there was nothing left to protect the remnants of his soul and they _burned_. He tried to run, because it _hurt_ worse than anything he'd ever felt in all his short, tragic years and he needed desperately to be numb—escape the fire before there was nothing left of him—but the fog was gone and all that remained was the cold rain of the shower, Barrett's voice, Marlene's eyes, and the _pain. _

Staring at Marlene, the world suddenly shifted—the colors dimming to gray—and Aerith and Tifa looked at him with loving smiles and sad, disappointed eyes and it hurt, hurt, _hurt…._

He remembers hearing a warped, high-pitched that couldn't have possibly his voice but somehow was and suddenly the rain was gone but water was still running down his cheeks and he was drowning. Oh, he was drowning. Drowning and _breaking _beneath the weight of the grief he could no longer escape. And the pain was pouring out of him through shaky limbs, salty tears, and those awful screams he couldn't contain.

Barrett's angry voice stopped cursing at him and turned concerned while the sadness in Marlene's eyes morphed into shock and fear. The shower tiles were slick and cold but soothing as he collapsed against them in a shuddering heap. The screams tapered off into violent sobs that shook his frail, malnourished frame so hard it was a miracle his bones didn't come right out of his skin.

There was no way out and the grief kept pressing down on him, harder and harder and harder until all he could do was moan and shake and sob helplessly on the shower floor like the weak (_so weak he couldn't even save the three most important people in his life from dying like the heroes they were never meant to be_) person he was. He'd never been colder and his world had never been darker (_not even when the sky was falling and he was facing the insane eyes of the man he'd always wanted to be like, and now horrifyingly _was_, and fighting of all the poisonous voices in his head that said he would fail)_ than it did from the wet tiles of Barrett's tiny shower.

Then two small arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him away from the edge of the abyss. Marlene didn't say anything. She—and Aerith and Tifa from somewhere in her innocent eyes—just looked at him and held on tight enough to somehow keep him from drowning. And somehow, he worked up the strength to cling to her in return, wrapping himself up in her soothing presence.

The next clear memory is waking up in a bed and being force-fed soup by a very determined Barrett.

("_Man, Spiky, yer so thin if ya turn sideways I can't see ya!")_

The fog didn't return and the pain had turned into a heavy ache settled somewhere deep in his heart, yet for the first time in a _long _time living to see tomorrow didn't seem like such a horrible thing.

Maybe he could get through this after all … somehow…

* * *

He didn't get out of bed for two whole weeks—Barrett wouldn't let him—and Marlene accompanied him on his first trip outside with her little hand clasped tightly in his shaking one. His legs felt like jelly and his steps were about as coordinated as a drunkard's but it was nice to hear the rumble of distant thunder again and feel the cool fingers of the wind on his skin.

The city somehow looked both better and worse than he remembered, making him wonder what progress had really been made. There was still rubble everywhere, and twisted metal, but new buildings were beginning to rise up out of the ashes, carved by hard-working hands, so he supposed that counted for something and proved that maybe hope wasn't quite as dead as he thought.

He sat on the front steps of Barrett's new house while Marlene played in the dirt, and looked out over the ruins of Midgar and those new buildings—the first steps back toward _life. _Seeing it all again, made him think of Meteor, which made him think of Tifa, so he closed his eyes and tried not to think at all.

He couldn't manage that for long, so he went back inside to escape the mocking ruins of Midgar and the grief that still held him tight in its grip.

Upstairs with a firm bed beneath him and warm covers over him the silence was deafening but there were no ghosts or shadows so that made everything—breathing, _living—_just a little easier to handle. Briefly he thought of Barrett and Marlene and how hard it must be for them to see him like this, but he didn't dwell on it for long and couldn't really bring himself to care. It was hard enough waking up every day and suppressing the urge to throw himself off the highest thing he could find.

The night was eternal and in that painfully silent room (_prison­­­) _he desperately missed the sun. He nearly screamed when he realized that he'd forgotten what it looked like, felt like, and somewhere in the back of his mind, one of the voices laughed loud and long and hard.

* * *

The memories blurred together again into sleepless nights full of terrifying dreams, endless days of rubble and sad faces, and hours upon hours of simply sitting looking out at the world through dirty glass. He wasn't sure if things were getting better, but gradually Barrett began to force him out of the house more and more…

("_C'mon, Spiky, make yerself useful! I ain't gonna let you waste away like this.) _

… and into somewhat productive activities ( like clearing rubble and finding pieces that could be used for new buildings and furthering hope).

He wasn't sure whether to laugh, cry, or scream in anger when he saw the monument Shinra had erected in the middle of the new city. Somehow, the damned company had still managed to place themselves at the center of everything. But still, it was a nice gesture and it seemed sincere enough so he ignored it. There really was nothing wrong with honoring the dead.

Especially since most the world was dead.

He avoided going to the church and glared at Barrett when he said the building was still standing and he should go see it.

("_It might help ya heal, Spiky. I'm sure she'd like it if ya came ta visit. The flowers are still bloomin' and everythin'. Weird, ain't it?")_

He just wasn't strong enough to face Aerith. He wasn't sure he would ever be.

After receiving an icy glare, Barrett didn't bring up the church or Aerith or flowers again. At least the man was smart enough to never mention Tifa.

He nearly punched the former rebel, though, when Barrett suggested that they open a bar. He'd purchased some fine wine and he figured that they could do good business with everyone looking to drown their sorrows in these dark, post-apocalyptic days. Cloud adamantly refused—more passionate about it than he'd been since Sephiroth, or maybe even Aerith.

Barrett didn't back down and a part of Cloud suspected that the man kept pestering him about it just to see a little emotion—anger or otherwise—and life creep back into his empty, glass eyes.

It took nearly a month of constant needling before Cloud caved in and agreed simply because he was too tired to argue anymore and he just wanted the rebel to _shut up _and leave him alone. Barrett told Cloud he wouldn't regret it. Cloud didn't tell Barrett he already was. It would have taken far too much effort.

He also didn't tell Barrett how much the mere thought of setting foot in a bar _hurt._

* * *

It took two months, ten days, and ten hours to build the bar, and during that time there was much debate over what to call it. One night around the dinner table (takeout because neither man could cook to save their lives) Marlene suggested that they call it Seventh Heaven. Cloud felt a wave of white-hot pain crash over him and above it Marlene's innocent voice, driving daggers into his heart.

(_"We always had fun back then. Maybe, if we name it that, we can have fun again. Tifa would like that, right Daddy?")_

He couldn't breathe and the world was nothing but shades of grey amidst agonizing black and blinding white and sickly green and he needed to get out _now _or he'd break all over again.

_Runrunrunrun…. _One of the voices whispered and he obeyed without a thought, leaving an overturned chair, a hot plate of food, and a swinging door in his wake. He ran for a long time, through the twisting streets, until his legs gave out and he collapsed near a half-constructed building in an unfamiliar district—not that he cared. Inside him, the pain and grief screamed and thrashed and tried to rip him to bits until he was gasping for breath and there was water in his eyes and blood on his palms from where his fingernails sliced his tender skin.

Images assaulted him but instead of Tifa's laugh or her smile or her warm wine-colored eyes that always made him feel wanted and _loved _he saw blood and fire and her empty eyes mocking him from her frozen face. There was blood on him again, so much blood (_everywhere) _and no matter how hard he scrubbed it wouldn't come off. Why wouldn't it come off?

_Failure! _Another voice spat and it sounded like a warped, twisted version of Tifa's voice. Hearing it finally made the water overflow and pour down his face onto the rough ground.

He could still see the blood, crimson stains all over his skin, and he desperately tried to erase it, but it just wouldn't go away. _Why, why, why? _He tried, harder and harder, but it was still _there­ (_Tifa's blood, and Aerith's, and Zack's) and the voices built until they were a roar his head that drowned out everything else.

_Failureweaklingfailuredisgustingweakpuppetfailure__**weak… **_

Suddenly, hands were grabbing his and he could hear a voice, different that the others, screaming …

(_Spiky?! What the … stop it, Spike! C'mon, Cloud, pull yerself together! __**Cloud!**_)

… and it made all the other voices go away. When he blinked the world was full of proper colors again and there was no more gray, black, white, or green just Barrett's concerned (_frightened) _face. And then he looked down at his arms and gasped, seeing trails of red coming from deep scratches. His nails were bloody and he realized that _he_ was the one whohad scraped his skin up so badly and the realization made him break down in sobs because oh Gaia he was crazier than he'd thought.

Barrett just shook his head, dragged him back to the house, bandaged his arms, and shoved him in bed with clear instructions not to get out, or move an inch, until he was told to.

Cloud was too tired to fight back.

That night when he slept there were no nightmares and when he woke up the next morning the darkness in him wasn't as black and he realized that even though the night before had been horrible beyond belief somehow, for reasons he couldn't begin to understand or explain, something inside of him was healing.

He was one step closer to the sun.

This knowledge alone gave him the strength to get out of bed. When Barrett saw him, he opened his mouth to yell and curse and order him back to bed but then the ex-rebel paused and looked at him, seeing something there had apparently been missing before. Whatever it was it was enough to get Barrett to close his mouth and offer him breakfast instead of hauling him back upstairs.

And even though Cloud's hands shook when he picked up the fork and knife he cleared his plate for the first time since he'd come to Edge.

And for the first time, Barrett smiled.

Cloud ignored him.

* * *

They finally decided to call the bar Phoenix Down—or rather Barrett decided and Marlene liked it and Cloud didn't offer any objections. It was a fitting name and nowhere near Seventh Heaven so Cloud supposed he liked it well enough. Barrett seemed happy to have his approval, though Cloud wouldn't really call it that, and whistled almost non stop for a whole week before Cloud finally put his foot down and told him rather emphatically to quit, surprising them all.

(_"Man, Spiky! You almost sounded normal. Is the sky fallin' or something?") _

He told Barrett the sky had already fallen and the man shut up after that.

They moved out of the dilapidated house and into the bar after Barrett had gone all the way to Costa del Sol—since Junon and Kalm were a mess—to get decent furniture and supplies for the bar. Then, he opened the new establishment with more abandon than Cloud had seen from him in quite a long time.

Cloud didn't have the heart to ask how they were going to do this, since neither one of them knew anything about running a bar. Barrett probably wouldn't listen, anyway, and just tell him that they would make it … somehow. In the end, it simply wasn't worth the effort.

So the bar opened and people came in droves, for either the chance to talk to other human beings or pour hard liquor down their throats until they forgot their names and the faces of the people they'd lost. Cloud watched wearily, talked to almost no one, and followed Barrett's orders and miraculously they kept the bar afloat and even began making a profit.

It was proof that miracles existed after all. And as Barrett grabbed him in a headlock, ruffled his hair into an even wilder array than normal, and shouted at the tops of his lungs about all the money they were making Cloud wondered if Aerith had something to do with it.

The thought didn't hurt as much as he thought it would.

He still wasn't brave enough to think of Tifa, though, or how hard she'd laugh if she could see him and Barrett now.

* * *

He still wasn't sure how he'd ended up here. When he looked back on his life—or the pieces of it that weren't lost in a green fog—none of it made sense. How he did go from being an outcast in Nibelheim to the savior the world to a shell of a human being living with a little girl and a man with a gun for an arm in the ruins of a once great city running a bar of all things? He would've laughed (though it would've been bitter) if his current situation didn't hurt quite so much. Sometimes, he wondered if he was dreaming and any minute he'd wake up in his barracks in Shinra still a grunt with dreams and a best friend who was alive and well and more than blur in his hazy memories. He let himself think it was dream. It made the pain duller and offered a sense of hope reality simply couldn't offer, no matter what Barrett said.

Tifa had said once that she sorted out his head after he fell into the Lifestream and that everything would be okay, but he realized he was more delusional now than he was back then.

And he didn't care.

The bar continued to flourish and things settled into a somewhat comfortable routine. He continued to take tiny, baby steps out of the darkness—actually responding to Barrett's questions, playing with Marlene and tucking her in at night, speaking to one or two of the customers, and going outside on his own without Barrett having to literally throw him out and lock the door behind him with instructions not to return for at least an hour. When he saw himself in the mirror his eyes looked a little less dead and a little more alert and he figured that was progress. Yes, he was getting better.

But Barrett was getting restless.

The man's trips got longer and longer; he stared out the window more often; he seemed preoccupied and jittery. Cloud knew it was only a matter of time before he was gone. Barrett never stayed in one place for long and not even a successful bar or a little girl could make him remain. One day, Barrett would walk out the door and never come back and there wasn't anything in the world Cloud could do to prevent it. The knowledge made him afraid (because he leaned on Barrett far more than he would admit) and he felt frustrated and helpless. Conversations grew shorter and shallower and the tension got so thick it felt like lead on their shoulders and it filled their lungs with every breath and choked the life out of them.

Finally Barrett got an offer (_an excuse_) he couldn't pass up. Only two days after he received the letter from the WRO he was all packed and ready to leave in search of alternate energy sources … and leave them behind.

Marlene's hand squeezed Cloud's so tight he could feel his bones grind together as he stood in the doorway, watching Barrett's broad back grow smaller and smaller until he was the size of an ant and then the horizon swallowed him.

Cloud felt dark, hot anger in his chest as strong as a wildfire and he wanted to run after the ex-rebel screaming curses, beat some sense into his head, drag him back, and demand he stay. _Why? Why _was Barrett leaving him—a complete and utter mess—alone with a bar he had no idea how to run and little girl he had no idea how to raise?

Marlene cried and there wasn't any words he could find to comfort her, so he let her squeeze all the feeling out of his hand and silently promised himself he would be there for her when Aerith and Tifa and even Barrett hadn't been able to. It was a reason to live and he grasped onto it desperately. For Marlene, he'd keep on fighting, even when he felt so empty and drained.

Somehow, he knew Aerith was smiling.

Tifa too.

* * *

The first few months after Barrett left were a rollercoaster of ups and downs, good days and bad days, mixed with a general whirlwind of emotion. Some days he felt as though he and Marlene could survive just fine and maybe even become better than they were now but most days it was a Herculean effort to get himself up and dressed in the morning and by the time the sun set he was so tired he could barely stand.

It took him two weeks to figure out how to cook a decent meal and six to learn how to manage all the finances involved in the bar. Three weeks after Barrett left a fistfight broke out in the middle of the bar and Cloud was forced to throw them out. Customers looked at him a little differently after that—with a mixture of awe and fear—since both the men had been about twice his size and he'd sent them flying with almost no effort. While he didn't mind the respect, the stares bothered him and he wished he could fade back into the shadows away from all those prying eyes. But Marlene was counting on him, so he still flipped the sign to "open" every day— even when he was so exhausted it was hard to see straight and would rather face a thousand monsters than his customers.

Marlene kept her chin up and a smile on her face, but sometimes Cloud saw it wavering and often he caught her staring out the window—sad eyes scanning the streets in search of the man who could raise her far better than he could.

Her name was just another to add to the ever-growing list of "People He Had Failed" and the guilt ate away at him, but at least she was alive and _there _and seemed to care that he was trying, which was more than he could say for anyone else in his life. He told her (and himself) that things would get better and for once he meant it … and she believed him.

Her eyes told him so.

And things _did _get better, little by little. He didn't burn their dinner eight times out of ten and Marlene looked out the window less often and her smiled didn't waver as much. She even laughed at least once six days out of seven. When he looked in the mirror he saw _life _in his eyes and he no longer looked like a ghost but an actual human being. One day, when Marlene was dressed up as princess and pretending to waltz around the bar while Cloud was cleaning the counter he felt his lips moving upward in an almost foreign gesture.

("_Cloud! You're smiling! You're smiling! Yay, Cloud!") _

Yes, life was better than it had been in quite a while. He was even closer to the sun than before. He could almost feel its warmth on his face. He felt as though he could run a bar, raise Marlene, do anything.

But not visit the church. Not yet.

* * *

The phone call came four months, five days, and three hours after Barrett had left. Cloud was puzzled by the sound of Reeve's voice on the other end and how sad the man sounded. He'd never heard Reeve sound so sad. The words didn't register at first, but when they did he felt as though he'd been hit by Meteor, or run through by Masamune again. The phone slipped from his fingers and crashed to the floor—Reeve's tinny voice emitting from the speakers, spewing meaningless platitudes.

(_"Cloud? Are you there? Are you all right? Cloud! Talk to me!") _

The floor was hard beneath him as he fell, catching himself on his hands and knees. The healing hole in his chest ripped open and _bled,_ and if felt like Zack and Aerith and Tifa all over again.

Barrett … Barrett was _dead._

_Barrett _was dead.

_Barrett was dead. _

The night came rushing back and dragged him into darkness as the sun retreated. He was gasping and wheezing and Reeve's voice was still yelling at him through the phone but he didn't know what to do. It _hurt _again. The fire was back, licking at his soul, and he was worried, afraid, frustrated—a thousand things. How was he going to tell Marlene? How was he even going to pick himself up off the floor?

After a few seconds he managed to drag his hand over to the phone. The call disconnected with a resounding _click_, cutting off Reeve mid-question and leaving him in dark, _welcome, _silence.

Barrett was dead. Barrett—six foot four inches, bigger than a grizzly with a gun for an arm had gone off to help save the world all by himself and _died. _And now … now there was a little girl downstairs who was missing yet another father and yet another person had vanished from his life.

He felt frustration surface through the blinding pain and his fingers curled into fists, nails scraping the rough wood of the office floor. _Why? _Was he cursed? Would everyone he ever cared about die and leave him all alone? A bitter laugh bubbled from his lips and spilled over (though it sounded more like a sob when he heard it ) and a voice whispered in his head.

_Fool, everyone already has. You __**are **__alone. _

He didn't know how he felt about that. Eventually, he decided that he just didn't care. It was better not to care, better to be numb. The sun was blinding and aching and so terribly brilliant, but the darkness was cool and soothing and comforting. Maybe, he would just stay here forever, in the night.

Chasing daylight was such a pointless thing.

He sat there for a long time (hours, days, weeks, did it matter?) before he heard footsteps on the stairs—light and soft, little girl footsteps. Marlene.

His head felt heavy and much harder to lift that it should've been and when he looked up Marlene was right there, in front of him, staring with big, worried eyes. He knew he must be quite a sight and he opened his mouth to greet her, try to reassure her, say anything but the truth, but nothing came out. Not a single sound. All he could do was stare and watch as her eyes got bigger and her face more concerned.

She finally asked him what was wrong in a voice too serious for a five-year-old. And he told her, forced the words from his protesting throat and told her father wasn't coming home, ever. At first she just stood still, mouth open, eyes huge in her small face, but then she exploded into violent anger. She screamed at him, insisted he was lying, demanded to speak to her father and all he could do was sit on the floor and watch.

(_"You're lying! Daddy's not dead! I want to talk to him! He can't be dead. He can't! Cloud, tell me he's okay. Daddy's okay; he's okay. Right, Cloud?!") _

He couldn't agree or disagree because he was torn in two between the part of him that knew the truth and the part of him that wanted to believe what Marlene said, that Barrett was alive and well and would come back someday. But he knew, deep down inside, that though Marlene let loose a dozen accusations and denials, she didn't believe a single one. Her eyes, which hadn't yet learned how to lie, said she knew her father was gone.

Like him, she just didn't want to believe it.

When her mouth would no longer work, she fled, and as the sound of her door slamming shut echoed through the empty bar Cloud sat alone in the darkness and fought the urge to weep. He realized now he wasn't alone. Marlene was still here and counting on him to pull them through.

But he didn't know what to do or even where to start.

He drank himself to sleep for the first time in nearly a year. But in even a dazed stupor, he could still feel the ache and the fire that burned hot, slowly consuming him.

He woke up the next morning with a pounding head and a churning stomach mixed in with an aching, dying soul, and stumbled into the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before vomiting out all the liquor and last night's meal. Tired and empty, he pulled himself up using the sink and caught sight of his reflection in the mirror.

Dead, glass eyes stared back.

* * *

Marlene refused to come out of her room for nearly two days. For the first day he simply left her alone, afraid to face her and content to drown in his own sorrows, but on the second day he managed to pull himself together, knowing that if he didn't get them through this, they'd both be lost forever. He stood in front of her door for hours, using everything he could think of—begging, pleading, bribes, promises, reassurances. He told her he was sorry over and over again and he meant it (_nevermind the voice that whispered it was Barrett's choice to leave and therefore Barrett's choice to die and the man had no right to leave them all alone so didn't he deserve this?_). Barrett's name was on the list now, another person he had failed, because he couldn't help but wonder if he'd gone after him that day and beat some sense into him like he'd wanted to, the big ex-rebel might still be here and Marlene might still have a father.

He spoke more words to the door of Marlene's bedroom than he'd uttered in _years, _but she didn't open it or even acknowledge his presence. He refused to give up, though. Getting her to come out of her room, became the soul goal in his empty, semblance of a life and he chased after it with a vigor he'd forgotten he possessed.

At last, 48 hours and 23 minutes after he first told Marlene her father was gone forever the locked on the door clicked, the knob turned, and the door creaked open to reveal red, bloodshot eyes and tear-soaked cheeks. Cloud looked up from he'd been sitting across the hall, too tired for anymore words, and dragged her into his arms without hesitation, holding her close. He could feel her tears soak into his shirt, cool against his skin, and he finally felt the emotion overwhelm him. Instead of a fire it was a raging river that crashed through the dam he'd built and poured from his eyes with all the force of a thundering waterfall.

Time fell away as they sat together in the hallway and cried and cried and cried until there no tears left. Then, somehow, Cloud stood up and carried Marlene downstairs and they cooked dinner together. They only ate about half of it but it was still progress and that counted for a lot. Cloud washed the dishes and Marlene dried and when they were about halfway though she looked up at him with those big, doe eyes that reminded of Aerith and asked if they were going to be okay. He'd told her they would be, someday.

And this time, he knew it was the truth.

Her small smile said that she did, too.

* * *

He wasn't sure if things got better or worse after that. They were on the rollercoaster again, but this time it had twice as many loops, twists, turns, and plunges. Some days were littered with smiles and little bit of laughter while others were full of angry words, arguments, and exasperation. Some nights he slept without dreams while others were full of images, both remembered and imagined, so intense that he would bolt upright in bed with his hands locked over his mouth to keep the screams inside so he didn't wake Marlene.

The ride sometimes made him feel sometimes exhausted, sometimes exhilarated, and more than once he wondered if this was what life felt like.

He still ran the bar, for Barrett just as much as Tifa now (with Zack and Aerith mixed up in there somewhere, too) and business continued to blossom. It wasn't as hard anymore and he actually began to find comfort in the routine. It made him feel close to the Tifa in the way that flowers always reminded him of Aerith and for once being close to her didn't hurt.

He wasn't sure what she was to him, but he had come to accept the fact that he loved her and that this love was fully _him, _not Zack. He missed her, often more than Aerith, and wondered what she would think of him now. Would she proud? Sad? Happy? He didn't know but he did wish he'd gotten a chance to love her more, to make certain she loved him too, rather than be left behind with nothing but questions and assumptions.

He was chasing daylight again, harder than before, and he was getting closer to the sun. The gaping hole in his heart healed more with every smile, hug, and laugh Marlene gave him. The little girl, in the months that followed Barrett's death, became everything to him—his sole reason for living. She understood him, because she'd been left behind too, and together they were slowly forging a life from ashes.

It was far from perfect but it was _life _and that was really all that mattered.

Six months, two weeks, and three days after Barrett had died, he felt a pull in him, a call, and he knew he had to go to the one place he'd been avoiding.

It was time.

* * *

The whole building smelled of flowers, of _her, _and the blanket of white and yellow petals still covered the ground—the flowers still reaching toward the elusive sun. He could almost feel her here—hear her laugh, see her smile. But instead of dredging up the familiar, burning pain, being this close to her soothed the storm in his heart, knit some of the frayed edges back together. It was a special kind of feeling and for a few long moments he just closed his eyes and relished it.

He sat amidst the flowers for a long time, feeling the cool petals against his skin, and allowed himself to _remember. _This time, he didn't think of her final moments, but her giggle when he first opened his eyes after crashing through her roof, her dancing eyes when she merrily dressed him up like a girl, the determined set of her jaw when she charged headlong into battle, the gentleness of her touch when she healed him, the quiet smile she would give him that told him she understood everything he was suffering and that it was _all right. _

Everything was all right.

He'd always felt that around her and he felt it now.

The emotion filled him and overflowed and soon he was laughing while crystal drops of water fell from his eyes onto the petals.

"I miss you."

"_I know." _

His eyes widened at the soft whisper that felt like a gentle caress.

_"It's okay. You're healing. You're going to be all right, Cloud." _

"But how…?"

_"You've got so much to live for." _

"What?"

"_Do I really have to spell it out?" _He could almost here her giggling.

"I…"

_"You'll see, in time." _

_"__**She's right." **_

_Her _voice didn't hurt as much as he thought it would. Instead of ripping into, it soothed the ragged edges of his soul even more. It was _love _and his heart sang at the sound. "Tifa?"

_**"Of course, silly. I'm glad you came. You look like you're doing okay." **_

"Yeah." He smiled, realizing that he _was _doing okay, miraculously.

_**"Good. Tell me, Cloud, does it still hurt to think about me?" **_

He didn't want to disappoint her, but he could never lie, not to her. "Yes, sometimes. I … I failed you."

She scoffed and he wondered if he'd finally lost the last shreds of his sanity. Above his head, the sun broke through the clouds and spilled in the through the holes of the roof, making the flowers shine.

_**"You never failed me, Cloud. You never failed anyone." **_

"_We never blamed you, you know. Never. We're proud of you, Cloud." _

"Proud…?"

_**"Very proud. Just keep on living, Cloud. You'll be okay." **_

"Tifa…"

_"She's right, Cloud. Everything's going to be all right. Just don't give up." _

_"__**Yeah, Cloud. I love you. Stay strong. Tell Marlene hi for me. She's doing okay, too, isn't she?" **_

He thought of Marlene, who had smiled at him before he left and told him to say hello to Aerith and Tifa for her, and Daddy too. "Yeah. She's doing okay." He paused, realizing her voice had grown fainter than before. Sadness welled within him. He wasn't ready to let go yet. "You're leaving?"

_"We'll always be with you, Cloud. Always." _

_**"Yeah, Cloud. And by the way," **_a bright laugh, _**"you're doing just fine with the bar, don't worry." **_

"Wait, Tifa!" He could almost feel her pause. He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I love you. I … I think I always have."

_**"I know." **_He could hear the smile in her voice. _**"Don't feel bad. We'll see each other again. I'll be around. Just don't forget me." **_

"Never." He spoke the word with more passion than he ever had. He would keep her in his heart, always. "I promise."

_**"Good. See you around, Cloud." **_

The voices faded and he was alone with the flowers. For a long moment he felt like crying, but he found himself smiling instead—glad for the incredible gift he'd just been given.

The sun actually felt warm on his face and those moments he finally did it—grasped the particles of daylight and wrenched himself gasping into the sun. It was blinding and aching and so terribly brilliant, but it was also warm, and real, and _beautiful. _With a few tears that for the first time weren't from sadness running down his face, he opened his eyes wide and drank it in.

And in those moments, staring up into the glorious sunlight he realized something: they were _right. _

He would be okay.

He left the church an hour later, but he knew he'd be back. And next time, he'd bring Marlene.

She deserved the chance to bask in the sun, too.

Maybe, chasing daylight wasn't such a pointless thing after all.

* * *


End file.
